That One Time Harry Saved Everyone
by Shadow Rebirth
Summary: While working as an Auror Harry falls through an Eluvian and accidentally gets involved with the fate of Thedas. It would be just like old times, only instead of having Ron and Hermione as sidekicks he has Neville (who is not putting up with this shit) and Marcus Flint (who is technically under arrest). Harry is quite sure everything will turn out just fine.
1. Chapter 1: Eluvians and Elves

Posted: 16 December 2014  
Last Updated: 18 December 2014  
Chapter WC: 3,299  
Story WC: 3,299

Summary: While working as an Auror Harry falls through an Eluvian and accidentally gets involved with the fate of Thedas. It would be just like old times, only instead of having Ron and Hermione as sidekicks he has Neville (who is not putting up with this shit) and Marcus Flint (who is technically under arrest). Harry is quite sure everything will turn out just fine.

* * *

That One Time Harry Saved Everyone

Chapter 1  
_Eluvians and Elves_

* * *

This was supposed to have been a simple mission, Harry lamented as he hunkered down against a broken wall. Spells of every color flew overhead while shouts came from within the room.

Marcus Flint had never been the sharpest quill in the pot to begin with. Added to the fact that Harry's team was attempting to bring him in for smuggling Jarveys out of the country—though _why_ he was smuggling Jarveys of all things Harry couldn't being to understand—amounted to what should have been an easy case. Instead they had three dark wizards who had barricaded themselves into a storage room below Knockturn Alley.

Harry wasn't sure how they expected this situation to end in their favor. His team was spread out over the building, he'd already called for another Auror squad for backup, and the anti-Apparition wards over the building prevented escape. The three dark wizards could fight themselves into exhaustion, but they wouldn't be able to get away. Then again, if there was one thing Harry had learned in his time on the force, it was that galleons and stupidity went hand in hand

A loud crunch echoed through the room. Harry leapt to his feet and vaulted over the half-destroyed wall he'd been hiding behind, knowing before he saw it that Neville had sent vines up through the floor. The vines had entangled the feet of the dark wizards and yanked them to the ground.

Harry shot off a stunner before his feet landed back on the floor. It dissipated against the flagstones as Flint lunged out of the way, tearing free from the vines. He spat out a curse, which bounced off Harry's quickly erected shield, hit a crate, and sent splinters of wood flying as it exploded. One of the other dark wizards yelled out as a piece of wood embedded itself in his thigh. The sound cut short when Neville jumped through the doorway to the stairs and hit him with stunner.

The third dark wizard made a sweeping motion with his wand. A wave of concussive force blasted from the tip of his wand. Harry jerked his shield up, but the spell smashed right through it and tossed him back like a ragdoll. He felt his back hit the tall mirror that stood against the far wall of the storeroom and grit his teeth, excepting it to shatter.

He kept falling.

Harry's eyes widened and a stomach-dropping feeling of weightless took over for a second. A flash of blue swirled around him and then his back hit the ground. His breath wheezed from his chest, but Harry was already rolling to his feet with his wand raised and a spell on his lips.

Then he stopped.

And stared.

He was…not in the basement. Or Knockturn Alley, for that matter. He stood in the middle of some kind of courtyard. Gray mist drifted over the flagstones, curling around the dozens of mirrors that were set up in the square like tombstones.

The mirror before him, the one he'd…fallen through, did not show a reflection. Instead it was blue, shifting and shimmering like starlight.

Its surface rippled suddenly, like a pond disturbed by a stone. Moments later two bodies flew through it and rolled across the ground. Neville and Flint struggled to their feet and Flint whipped his wand around.

"_Diffindo_!"

Harry ducked as the white light flew past him, and then froze when a sharp _crack_ echoed through the otherwise still air. All three of them held their breath as the mirror fractured, sensing the heavy buzz of magic in the air. The blue ripples on the mirror shuddered, then went dark.

That was bad. Harry didn't know what had happened, or where they were, but he knew instinctively that that was Very Bad, capitalized and all.

Flint turned on his heel and fled. Harry and Neville ran after him and caught him two rows of mirrors down. With both of them and no other distractions, it took only moments to knock him out and tie him up. They dragged him back to the broken mirror and stared at it grimly.

"Have you see anything like this before?" Neville sat down on Flint.

Harry shook his head. "It's a little old, like the Mirror of Erised, but…different." He glanced around the courtyard and shivered.

This place looked almost monochrome. It felt muted too; made him want to talk in whispers. He could feel magic hanging heavy in the air. In the courtyard there were also a few…trees? Well, Harry hesitated to call them trees, but he thought that was what they were. They were made of stone and their branches curled upward, forming the outline of a ball above theirs trunks.

"I think I can safely say that this is a new experience."

Neville snorted. "I'm fairly sure that's _not_ what Ginny meant."

Harry flashed a grin. "Her exact words were, 'We need to go out more and have new experiences.' This is one. Of course it's a date between you and me instead, but hey, I'll take what I can get."

"Of course." Neville chuckled. He stood and nudged Flint with his foot, but the man was still out cold. Merlin, how had Flint managed to get even uglier since Hogwarts?

"Must be that troll blood," Harry mused.

Neville shot him a look, then shook his head. They'd worked together long enough that Neville had learned to ignore the odd slips when Harry spoke his (usually disjointed) thoughts aloud.

"So how do we get back?" Neville asked.

The smile slipped off Harry's face. That was a very good question. He pointed his wand at the broken mirror.

"_Reparo_."

The pieces of the mirror vibrated, then stilled. Harry frowned and repeated the charm with more force, but got the same result. He cursed, ran a hand through his hair, and tried again.

Nothing.

Neville considered the mirror with narrowed eyes. "It must be a powerful enchanted object." He glanced around. "Perhaps one of the others…?"

"It's worth a try."

They peered through the rows of mirrors, wands at the ready. The thick mist gave the area an ominous feel and Harry's eyes kept darting around, half expecting something to jump out at them.

About half of the mirrors were broken—some just cracked and others entirely shattered—while most of the rest were dark, reflecting dull shadows. There were, however, a handful that gleamed like their mirror had before it'd broken. None of these shone with that blue light, but they were clearly magical as well.

Harry stopped in front of one of the active mirrors and pressed his palm against its surface. It felt warm. Magic thrummed within it, growing stronger with each passing second. Harry felt a tug on his magic and immediately jerked his hand away.

"Definitely enchanted."

Neville stepped up beside him. "Is it activated by touch?"

"I think so. It feels different from any enchantment I've come across before though. More…alive."

"So, people-eating mirrors then? It's a step up from those people-eating handbags, at least."

Harry grinned. "Agreed. But in this case I think its magic that it wants, rather than human flesh. Can you spot me?"

Neville heaved a sigh. "What else is new?" he muttered, but obligingly drew his wand and pointed it at Harry. If anything went wrong, he would cut off Harry's magic or knock him out.

This time Harry pressed both his hands against the mirror. He felt an answering pulse, then another tug on his magic. He gritted his teeth as his magic connected with the mirror's enchantment and the mirror drew energy from him. The sensation was sharp and foreign, like a splinter under his skin.

The mirror took a surprising amount of magic to activate, but Harry could tell the exact moment it did—and not just because its surface turned blue and began to ripple again.

"That's a portal if I've ever seen one." Harry let his hands fall away.

"You've never _seen_ a portal."

"But I've seen Muggle movies with them."

Neville snorted and shook his head. "So, do we go through?"

"Better than staying here. I'm fairly sure these work like the Vanishing Cabinet back at Hogwarts did. And it didn't kill us the first time, so we should be fine."

"Fantastically reassuring, as always," Neville said dryly. "Though with your luck this one will spit us out somewhere in the Amazon rainforest and we'll have to hike back to civilization."

"Naturally." Harry grinned impishly. He looked back at the mirror and took in a deep breath. "Well, here goes nothing."

He stepped through the mirror with his eyes screwed shut. Its surface brushed over his skin like a gossamer veil. Now that he wasn't in the middle of having a heart attack while falling, he could also feel the sheer power running through it. How in Merlin's name had the first mirror activated?

Walking through the mirror was like walking through a doorway. There was no disorientation and half a second later he stood on solid ground again. It immediately secured a spot at the top of the list for his favorite forms of magical transportation.

Harry was very noticeably not back in the storeroom, not that he'd really expected to be. Instead, he found himself standing in the middle of an ancient ruin. Vines climbed up the walls and sunlight streamed in through holes in the ceiling and walls.

The mirror rippled as Neville came through with Flint's body levitating before him.

"Well, it's not a rainforest," Harry said.

Neville rolled his eyes.

They trudged out of the ruins with Neville stopping every ten feet to admire and take samples of a plant he'd never seen before. They both pretended they weren't increasingly alarmed by the lack of familiarity, or by the strange language carved into the walls.

The ruins sat in the middle of a forest—though thankfully _not_ a rainforest. It actually reminded Harry a bit of forests of Northern England, if hit with a growth charm. Two white deer with curly horns grazed at the edge of the ruins, then ran as soon as Harry and Neville walked outside.

"I really wish I knew a good location spell," Harry murmured.

Neville had put on his game face—entirely impassive and extremely intimidating, especially considering that Harry still remembered the clumsy child he'd once been.

"We should find a river first and follow it. Most Muggle towns are built next to a large water source."

Harry nodded. They took three steps into the forest when a voice cut through the air.

The two Aurors froze. Harry gripped his wand, but didn't raise it. Neville lowered Flint closer to the ground so that he could safely drop him if needed.

Three people stepped out of the woods. All of them had lithe frames and long, pointed ears. They were pointing drawn bows at the wizards, but Harry barely noticed that detail.

"Elves. Merlin, they look like _elves_!"

Neville's lips quirked up into a smile. "Breathe, Harry."

"Elves! Are you seeing this?"

The lead elf, a woman with blonde hair, barked out something else, but it might as well have been Gobbledygook for all that Harry understood her.

"We come in peace?" Harry tried.

The woman—_elf_!—frowned fiercely. She said something else. When the Aurors just stared at her, she demanded something and then pulled her bowstring back further.

Harry held his free hand out in a placating gesture. "We mean no harm. We're just a bit lost. You wouldn't happen to have a signpost around, would you?"

No response. Harry took a step forward and one of the other elves, a boy who couldn't have been more than fifteen, let his arrow fly.

Harry diverted the arrow with a wave of his wand, then Apparated behind the elves. Three stunners later and two of them were down, but the third, a man, had dodged out of the way. He dropped his bow and drew two daggers instead, then jumped at Harry with the blades raised like fangs. Halfway through the lunge he collapsed to the ground, nearly stabbing himself. Harry glanced up to see Neville standing in an offensive dueling position with his wand up, pointed at the elf.

Harry nodded his thanks. He straightened out the elves from where they'd fallen while Neville healed the shallow scratch the man had gotten.

"Two adults and a child… A family, you think?" Neville mused.

Harry shook his head. "They're armed and armored. My guess is a patrol of some kind." He pursed his lips. "Did you recognize the language?"

Neville shook his head mutely.

They checked over the elves, but found nothing that hinted at where they'd ended up. The woman had a belt with several potions tied to it. Harry removed the cork on one of and sniffed at the reddish liquid inside. It smelled slightly sweet, but not like anything he'd come across before.

A faint whistle sliced through the air and then a sharp pain exploded in Harry's shoulder. Hissing, he Apparated a few feet away, behind a broken pillar.

Neville snapped out a physical shield spell just in time to block another arrow. Harry scanned the forest, but their new attacker had hidden themselves well.

"_Homenum Revelio_."

Harry's vision shimmered and the red shape of a person appeared a good twenty feet away, behind a large tree. He Apparated twice in quick succession until he had a line of sight, then hit them with a stunner.

Harry grimaced as he lowered his wand. He walked back to Neville instead of Disapparating.

"Hostile natives are never a good sign. We should go."

Neville nodded. He crooked his finger at Harry and sighed when he got a blank look in return. "Your shoulder."

"Oh, right."

Now that he remembered the arrow wound, pain blossomed in Harry's shoulder. He turned to give Neville better access. Neville used a vanishing charm on the arrow, then healed the wound with a couple of muttered spells. It was still a bit tender by the time Neville finished, but definitely manageable.

Harry beamed at his partner. Neville just sighed and offered his wrist to Harry, who pressed the tip of his wand against it. Harry murmured the incantation for the tagging charm the Aurors had started using a few years ago. It gave him a sense of where Neville was, like a nudge in the back of his mind, regardless of whether they could see each other or not. Once the charm had activated, Harry offered his own wrist to Neville so that he could do the same.

As one, they placed disillusionment charms on themselves and vanished from sight.

o-O-o

Harry and Neville walked for most the day without encountering another person or finding the edge of the forest. When night fell, they set up their Ministry-issued tent, which even with magic had barely enough room for three people.

Or at least it was supposed to. Hermione had altered both Harry's and Ron's tents to be triple the standard size, with a full kitchen and a separate bedroom that had four beds.

While Neville dumped Flint in the bedroom and sealed the door, Harry made a couple of slapdash sandwiches. When he walked back into the common room with them, he found Neville sitting in an armchair with his head thrown back and his arm over his eyes. Harry set a plate down next to him, took his own seat, and began to eat.

Two minute later, Neville finally spoke. He didn't move his arm. "I put in for retirement this morning."

Harry stopped chewing. He carefully set down his plate.

"I was going to tell you after this case." Neville smiled thinly. "I… I've been talking to Professor McGonagall. I accept the Herbology post. It will be…more stable."

"You'll make a bloody good professor."

"I think I will. I think I'll love it."

They sat in silence for a good ten minutes.

"We'll figure out where we are, and find a way back," Harry promised.

"Of course we will."

"Albus is going to be so excited when he finds out you'll be one of his professors."

Neville cracked a smile. "He should know better than to think I'll go easy on him, Godson or otherwise."

"Oh, of _course_ not."

They shared a grin and if they weren't on duty Harry would have immediately brought out the Firewhiskey. As things stood, he was tempted to do so anyway.

"You should probably feed Flint too," Neville pointed out.

Harry groaned. They really did need to wake their prisoner; it wasn't healthy keep applying stunners like they had been doing all day. Heaving an exaggerated sigh, he went back to the kitchen.

o-O-o

Neville sat for another minute, and then heaved himself off the armchair with a sigh. He walked into the bedroom, waving his wand offhandedly to relock the door behind him.

Flint was laid out on the bed in the back corner. His eyelids were twitching as his eyes moved back and forth behind them—a sure sign that Harry's latest stunner had worn off and Flint had slipped into sleep instead. He would likely wake up on his own within the next few minutes.

Though Neville didn't actually have enough patience to wait for that.

Placing himself directly in front of the door, Neville pointed his wand at Flint and intoned, "_Rennervate_."

A full body jerk went through Flint and his eyes slowly blinked open. He stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment, then scrambled off the bed.

"You can try to Disapparate is you want."

Flint froze.

"I'm sure you can tell there are no wards up," Neville continued. "But likely any Apparition just won't work. Or, if it does, it might splinch you in half and save me the trouble of having to kill you. So please, go ahead."

Flint's face twisted into a scowl. He looked constipated for about three seconds, then his face paled and his eyes widened.

Neville rolled his eyes. Of _course_ the idiot tried to Disapparate anyway. Well at least that saved him and Harry the risk of testing Apparition out here themselves.

"What did you do to me?!"

"Nothing. We're too far from England for you to be able to Apparate there. Do you remember the mirrors?"

The shifting of Flint's eyes told Neville that he did.

"The mirrors were a form of magical transportation. _Your_ cutting curse broke the one we came through, blocking our way back home."

As Neville spoke, he noticed how progressively tense Flint got. He was entirely unsurprised when the man suddenly lunged forward, likely trying to overpower Neville and got for the door.

Sighing, Neville flicked his wand. The blankets on Flint's bed whipped forward and wrapped around Flint's legs, knocking him to the floor. A Second flick conjured a rope that tied Flint's hands to the bedpost.

Flint huffed and cursed and glowered, but couldn't get free.

A knock came from the door. Once Neville unlocked it, Harry waltzed in with another sandwich on a paper plate.

"Here you go!" Harry set the food on Flint's bed. He smiled in response to the criminals' glare. "Don't worry, I only poisoned it a little."

Flint sneered at Harry, Neville, the sandwich, and everything else around him. Harry shrugged and walked out.

"You may not like this, but you are still in our custody until we get back to England," Neville said.

Flint spat on Neville's shoes. Neville impassively vanished the fluid and left.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Neville's expression shifted to disgust. "Merlin, how has he gotten even _worse_ since Hogwarts?"

"I know, right?" Harry readily agreed. "I told you, it's the troll blood."

o-O-o

A/N: So yeah, this is a thing.

I haven't written any fanfiction in far too long, but two days into playing Dragon Age: Inquisition this idea popped into my head and hasn't let me alone since. Of course, now that I've finished the game the plot has changed quite a bit. I am writing this as I go/as inspiration comes, so updates will likely be quite sporadic. This is also mostly unedited, so please do point out any errors you notice.

I was very close to naming this "That One Time Harry Got Eaten by a Mirror", but Harry's saving people thing won out in the end.

Please review to let me know what you think!

SR


	2. Chapter 2: Run-ins and Runaways

Posted: 18 December 2014  
Last Updated: 18 December 2014  
Chapter WC: 4,154  
Story WC: 7,454

* * *

That One Time Harry Saved Everyone

Chapter 2  
_Run-ins and Runaways_

* * *

With the next day came more walking. Flint was awake this time, stomping through the forest while Neville walked just behind him with his wand trained on Flint's back. For the tenth time that morning Neville wished they'd had the foresight to bring brooms with them for their last mission. Not that brooms would have been needed in Knockturn Alley, but still.

Two hours in they finally found a river, which they then followed for the rest of the morning.

Shortly after lunch, Harry suddenly halted atop a ridge. "There," he said, pointing to a break in the trees.

A field sat in the distance, flat and dotted with only a handful of trees. Nestled in the middle of the sea of yellow and green were dots of brown: buildings.

"A village," Neville said.

Harry nodded. He stared for a minute longer. "We should kidnap a native."

Neville looked at him blankly and Flint shot him an incredulous look.

"No, really!" Harry waved a hand. "We can sneak in and grab one quietly, then test out at bunch of variations of the translation charm on them to see if we can get one to work, even without knowing what their language is. When we're done we can just obliviate them and send them on their way."

Neville rubbed his forehead to stave off the headache he knew would be coming. "Harry, for the last time, you are _not_ a spell inventor. Your variations _never work_."

"That will only be true if I stop trying!"

Flint looked between them with growing disbelief. "You guys are _Aurors_. You're not supposed to _kidnap_ people!"

"Aw, I think we broke him." Harry grinned. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, Mark. And besides, we'll return him when we're done. No harm, no foul."

_Mark?_ Flint mouthed incredulously.

"_No_, Harry." Neville gave him a pointed look. "We're not kidnapping any Muggles."

"Don't worry, I'll just pop over there and be back in a jiffy."

"_Harry!_"

Neville's growl dissolved into a groan as Harry Disapparated. He saw Harry appear in the distance, halfway across the field, then vanish again.

"Sit. Don't move."

Flint sank to the ground under Neville's hard glare. He sneered as he did so, as though to say that he wasn't really following Neville's order.

They waited for a tense ten minutes. The town hadn't suddenly caught fire yet, which Neville took as a good sign. Regardless, he still jumped and almost hit Harry with a curse when he suddenly Apparated back to them.

Harry had indeed found a Muggle: a tall man with auburn hair who doubled over, grabbing his stomach and groaning as he dealt with the aftereffects of his first Apparition. He wore elaborate silver and blue plate armor with a stylized griffon emblazoned on the chest plate. A longsword hung at his side and a shield was strapped to his back.

He also wasn't running away, even after he regained his bearings.

Neville gave Harry a flat look. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing! He was just leaving town as I came in and saw me Apparate. We talked a bit through pantomimes and he agreed to come with me."

Neville sighed. "Of course he did."

"…I also may have placed him under a compulsion. Just a tiny one! It'll help make him trust us more."

Neville muttered under his breath, but didn't reply.

The man graced them with a shaky smile. He said something, likely in the same language the elves had used.

Harry pointed between him and Neville. "Alistair, Neville. Neville, Alistair."

The man smiled and held out his hand. Neville grudgingly took it, then turned back to Harry.

"For all you know that means 'hello' in his language."

"No, no, it's definitely his name." Harry gestured to Flint. "Alistair, Mark."

Flint scowled and stepped away from Alistair's outstretched hand. "Stop calling me that. And don't introduce me to a _Muggle_."

Alistair didn't look the least bit put out by Flint's reaction. He just smiled at him, then turned back to Harry.

While Harry and Alistair started talking to each other, both acting like they weren't speaking different languages, Neville released a long sigh and looked away. Best not to get involved with that particular brand of crazy, especially not if Harry had managed to find the one Muggle in this world who would accept it.

Instead, Neville leveled a serious look at Flint. He opened his mouth, about to warn Flint about playing nice, when a spell hit his side. He looked over his shoulder and glared.

Harry grinned unrepentantly and wriggled his fingers. "Just showing him that translation charms are harmless."

Alistair look a little wary, but mostly amused. He flashed a smile, to which Neville sighed again.

o-O-o

Alistair felt fairly certain he'd stumbled into something very important. And interesting, which was always good. He never thought he'd miss the Blight, but in the last decade had been an increasingly difficult exercise in boredom.

But this was something new.

He watched the green-eyed man fiddle with his polished stick and mutter to himself. Alistair had hear there had once been different languages, back before the Tevinter Imperium spread its influence over Thedas, but knowing and actually hearing were two very different things. Sometimes he almost thought he could understand what Harry was saying, like the sounds were all the same and just the words were different.

"You're from across the sea, aren't you?" Alistair said. Harry looked up and grinned, then went back to waving his stick. "I've heard the legends, but I never thought I'd actually see the day it happened. Stroud will be absolutely tickled when I tell him."

Harry said something back to him. It was easy to pretend they were just having a conversation with the light tone both of them used. Alistair really, really wished he could actually understand him.

"But what are you doing out here? How did no one see your ship?" Alistair rubbed his chin. "You could have crashed off the coast and then hiked through the forest. Or you could be a scouting party for an invasion, of course." He leaned closer to Harry and dropped his voice to a fake whisper. "I hope you're not part of an invasion. I'm bored, but not _that_ bored. Or if you are, you could just take our apostates and go. That would be fine. You can take all our lima beans too—no one on actually likes them."

Such possibilities were all the more reason for Alistair to stick close and keep his eye on this group. They were obviously mages and the polished sticks were probably what their people used instead of staffs. Alistair felt reasonably sure he could suppress any malignant magic they tried to use on him, but… Well, to be honest he had no idea what Harry was doing with his stick.

Alistair knew of three main types of magic: blood magic, elemental magic, and magic that affected a person's perception of reality. There were always a few exceptions, like Morrigan's shapeshifting, but as a whole most magic conformed to those types. Harry had done no blood magic as far as Alistair could tell. But there was also no visible effect to what he was doing which was…concerning. Was it failing? Or was the effect invisible?

While Alistair mused, Harry filled the silence with his own chatter. He certainly _seemed_ nice enough. And non-invasion-y.

Finally something happened. Or at least Alistair thought something had, based on Harry's pleased grin. Two seconds later Harry's face fell again as whatever he'd been working on failed. He heaved a sigh and said something to the other mage. Neville, was it?

While the two of them fell into a heavy discussion, Alistair watched the third man instead. He was a surly looking fellow with a pronounced brow an a perpetual sneer. Mark didn't have a stick, at least as far as Alistair had seen, but he was probably a mage too. He stood apart from the others, leaning against a tree and staring off into the woods.

Alistair was just about to go over to Mark when Harry stood. He withdrew a small bundle form the pocket of his robes. He winked and then tossed the bundle up in the air.

With a flourish of his wand, it popped and grew, stretching itself out in all directions until finally a good sized tent sat on the ground before them.

Alistair had jumped back at the initial pop and now gaped at Harry and the tent. A thread of fear rose in him, but was quickly squashed.

"That was fantastic!" he exclaimed. "See, more magic should be like that. Less _foosh_, fire of doom, and more _pop_, magic tent!"

Harry's smile widened. Neville brushed past them, prodding Mark inside the tent and ducking in after him. Harry gestured Alistair inside as well, but the Grey Warden hesitated. Surely there wouldn't be enough room—there would hardly be enough for two people, never mind three!

After another moment of dithering, Alistair gave in. As he pushed the tent flap aide, he froze. There was a room inside, complete with plush armchairs, a table, and a fireplace. The cloth ceiling hung a good eight feet off the carpeted flooring and there was a wooden door on the side and back walls.

Alistair stepped back. He stared at the six foot tall tent, then glanced inside again. The view hadn't changed. Alistair backed out completely.

Harry had begun circling the clearing while waving his stick and muttering to himself. Alistair's skin tingled in response to the magic being cast, but he hardly paid it any mind. Circling around the tent, Alistair let one hand trail across the fabric. It felt solid and real.

He stopped in front of the tent flap again and stared dumbly at it. "It's bigger on the inside."

A giggle sounded behind him. Harry was laughing at him, understanding Alistair perfectly even with the language barrier. Alistair flushed.

He stepped into the tent. "What wondrous magic. The tactical application of something like this are endless! Can you imagine packs like this, capable of holding an entire militia's supplies? Well, I suppose _you_ would…"

From his seat on an armchair, Neville raised an eyebrow at him. Mark was nowhere to be see.

Alistair sighed dramatically. "Your companion is much more fun to talk to," he informed the mage.

Neville picked up a book and proceeded to ignore him.

o-O-o

For an entire fucking week now they had been camping. Marcus had nothing to do but sit around and wait while Potter and Longbottom talked in hushed tones. The Muggle polluted the tent, jabbering like an idiot and smiling as though they couldn't kill him at any second.

And they still didn't know where they were. Potter had tried to feed Marcus a crock of shit about possibly winding up in another world, and seemed to honestly think he was stupid enough to believe it. It was an obvious cover-up for just how fucking lost Potter had gotten them. Marcus just needed to get down to the Muggle settlement and he could get out of his mess himself.

Marcus waited until Longbottom felt asleep that night. He thought about stealing the bastard's wand, but decided it wasn't worth risk and snuck out of the room. As soon as he Apparated back to London he'd have his pick of new wands—Crabbe would own him one after this bullshit, that was for sure.

Potter and the Muggle were throwing words at each other in the kitchen. Marcus couldn't begin to understand why Potter was actually bothering to try to learn the Muggle language, but at least for now it allowed Flint to slip past them unnoticed. He forced himself to keep his pace slow and quiet as he stepped out of the tent.

Marcus took in a deep breath of clear night air. It even smelled like England here. If he hadn't known for sure that there were no anti-Apparition wards up, he'd have thought the Aurors lied about where they were. Maybe they were somewhere in Europe, Marcus mused to himself. It seemed likely enough.

He turned on his heel and Disapparated. A moment later he appeared down near the Muggle village. A woman near one of the houses jumped at the sound of his arrival, gaped for a few seconds, then screamed.

Marcus' face pulled down into a scowl ad several other Muggles rushed out of their homes. The bitch began to yell something while pointing at him and the others hesitated nearby, looking torn between scared and angry.

Bloody Muggles. You'd never see a witch react so stop stupidly. If he'd wanted to hurt her she'd already be dead and her screaming would only put more people in danger.

Ignoring the growing crowd, Marcus Apparated farther into the town. If Potter was going to carelessly break the Statute then Marcus wouldn't give two flying shits about it either. He glanced around the town, but there were no signs in English to tell him where he was. Marcus growled, frustrated.

In the distance he could hear clanging, like someone was banging a bunch of pots together. Honestly, Muggles were weird as fuck.

If these people spoke English like civilized folk he'd be able to demand directions from them, but as things stood Marcus was stuck. Perhaps if Potter managed to get that translation charm to work—

_No._ Marcus stopped that thought in his tracks. He'd rather wander around lost than get stuck with holier than thou Aurors for another week. The worst part wasn't just their attitudes (gag-worthy though they were), but how fucking _blind_ they were to their own hypocrisy.

They walked around breaking laws left and right as though rules didn't apply to them at all, and then turn around and arrest good witches and wizards for doing the same while trying to make a living. And then they had the gall to call them dark wizards, like that actually meant something! Fucking propaganda, that's what it was.

And it wasn't just because they were Aurors either; Potter had been like that since his first year of school! Marcus would never forget the feeling of utter helplessness, watching that goatfucker Dumbledore give away their hard earned House Cup each year. During Marcus' last year at Hogwarts there had been a bet going around the upper year Slytherins about whether or not Potter was letting Dumbledore fondle him to get that kind of favoritism.

Lost in his frustrated thoughts as he was, Marcus hardly realized he'd been stomping through the village until a group of Muggles in full plate armor rounded the corner, heading straight for him. He sneered back at them, but halted. He hadn't known Muggles still wore shit like that until Potter kidnapped his new little pet. Who knew how Muggles thought; everything they did seemed to be entirely devoid of sense.

The Muggles actually tried to demand something in that nonsensical language of theirs. Ignoring their shouts, Marcus Apparated behind them. He took a single step forward, then heard another shout in a much more commanding tone. A wave of energy slammed into his back, sending him staggering to the ground. It felt like ice was crawling over his skin, or like a wool blanket was wrapped around his magic. Marcus suddenly felt drained, more tired than he'd ever been.

Blackness grew at the edges of his vision. Marcus struggled against the immaterial weight trying to drag him down into unconsciousness, but his panic was drowned out by a growing feeling of sluggishness.

His last thoughts were of just how much he hated Muggles.

o-O-o

"Flint made his move," Neville announced.

Harry sighed. He had been in the middle of trying to get the correct pronunciation one of the words Alistair was teaching him, but he had a feeling that the rest of his "lesson" would have to wait for a while yet.

"I'll grab him."

Neville tossed Harry a little plastic compass. "I tied the tracking charm to that."

Harry heaved an over-exaggerated sigh. "It would have been more fun to track him down myself."

"We don't exactly have the luxury of time. And you're shite at tracking Apparition points anyway; that's why Amanda always handled them."

"I think you just like spoiling my fun."

"I have to get my kicks somehow," Neville said in his most deadpan voice. He rolled his eyes. "_Go_, Harry. It's your turn to cook tomorrow morning. Don't you dare use Flint as an excuse to get out of it again."

Still smiling, Harry turned back to Alistair. "I have to go run a quick errand," he said while pointing to himself and the door. Then he pointed to Alistair and Neville. "Stay with Neville."

Alistair didn't look like he entirely understood, but he kept smiling anyway. He was such a pleasant guy. Harry wished more people were like him.

The first thing Harry did after leaving the tent was to put on the standard set of espionage charms—disillusionment, muffling, and scent-obscuring. The latter was a more recent addition, after one of Ron's missions ending in disaster thanks to a friendly family dog. Once done, he Apparated just outside of the village. He checked the plastic compass and jogged into town.

The tracking charm led Harry straight toward a small church. Two soldiers were posted by the doors, both wearing plate armor–and how the bloody hell weren't they boiling alive in that getup?—with a sword wreathed in flames engraved on them. The compass pointed right at the building, so Harry shrugged and circled around, looking for another entrance. There were a handful of windows on the building, but they were placed well above Harry's head and were blocked with metal bars.

Was this a church or a prison, Harry thought incredulously. Sure this was a different, more medieval world, but things hadn't seemed _that_ different so far.

…Not that Harry's frame of reference was particularly large, but that was beside the point.

Now how to get inside without causing a noticeable ruckus… Harry's eyes lit up with glee. Of course! There was a spell he'd learned a few months ago that he'd been dying for an excuse to try out. He pointed his wand at his feet and muttered the incantation.

Harry bounced on his heels a bit as he felt the spell take hold. Bending his legs, he pushed off against the ground with all his might and jumped up into the air—and up and up, past the edge of the roof. He flailed in midair for a few seconds and just barely caught the edge of the roof as he plummeted back to the ground. With a grunt he pulled himself up and rolled over onto his back.

"Close enough," Harry murmured to himself with a short laugh.

Pushing himself onto his hands and knees, Harry crawled across the roof until he reached the center beam. With a few careful cutting curses he cut away a square section of wood and set it aside. He peered inside.

He saw a dark room below, lit by a single narrow window. By some miracle it was empty.

Harry lowered himself down through the hole. He landed in a crouch and winced, wishing he'd thought to cast a cushioning charm first. He moved silently to the door and listened for a moment. When he heard no movement outside, he eased the door open and slipped out into the hall.

It only took a few minutes to search the church. There were three more soldiers inside, two of them out of their armor and asleep, and a couple of women in red and white habits. Harry assumed they were nuns, or maybe priestesses of some kind. In the very back of the church was a small room with a single cell. The door sat open ajar, just enough for Harry to see Flint within, propped up against the back wall of the cell. The third guard was seated just inside the room, reading a book while keeping guard.

Harry knocked over an unlit candlestick. When the guard went to check up on it, Harry used the distraction to slip past her and into the room. He closed the door and cast a locking spell on it while she shouted in alarm.

"_Alohomora_," Harry murmured, pointing his wand at the cell's lock. It clicked open.

Up close, Harry could see the sheen of sweat on Flint's brow. His eyelids drooped over unfocused eyes, with pupils dilated to small pinpricks.

Harry shook his shoulder. "Flint."

The man blinked sluggishly. "Potter, you…" He shook his head, then jerked forward and hissed, "Get me out of here! These Muggles, they—they did something. They blocked my magic!"

A ball of ice formed in the pit of Harry's stomach. "Explain later," he murmured pulling Flint up by the arm. "Can you move?"

"I—" Flint's lips pressed together into a thin white line. His legs were shaking and he had to lean heavily on Harry, but he managed to stand.

A heavy thud came from the door as it shook under someone's weight. Flint and Harry tensed, hearing voices outside, and someone took another running lunge at the door, likely ramming it with their shoulder. It held, solely thanks to the lock.

Just as Harry gathered his concentration to Disapparate, someone on the other side shouted out.

Something slammed into Harry's magic, making it go haywire. It felt like the ice in his stomach had exploded, sending frozen shards piercing into every part of his body, and his blood had frozen and was slowly expanding, tearing through his veins. Harry gasped and gagged simultaneously. Flint went limp in his grip and the sudden dead weight dragged Harry down, sending both of them crashing to the floor.

Harry felt a sort of draining, worse and more painful than anything he'd experienced before. A heavy exhaustion pressed down upon him. Harry struggled to keep conscious, like a man hanging from a ledge, scrabbling for purchase against smooth marble.

Gritting his teeth hard enough to make his jaw creak, Harry lifted his head. He saw Flint sprawled across the floor inches away, but when he tried to reach out for Flint, his arm flopped against the floorboards. It felt like his limbs had fallen asleep and gone numb.

Black dots dances across Harry's vision. The door shook again and wood groaned as the frame began to splinter. The lock wouldn't mean shit if it was ripped from the frame.

Grunting, Harry focused all his willpower on moving his arm. It twitched forward until at last he loosely wrapped three of his fingers around Flint's arm. Harry took a deep breath. Now he just had to—

A loud _crack_ rent through the air as the door burst open. Harry saw it bounce off the wall and an armored man charged in, and then the world swirled into a mass of colors as he Disapparated.

Only, something went wrong. If Harry had had lungs in that moment, he would have screamed. His body compressed into a thin line and nails were driven through his nerves. Then he was stretched out, tearing into a billions tiny pieces, and—

Harry and Flint appeared three feet above the ground. They fell back to the dirt and Harry was flung away as though thrown, rolling roughly across the ground. He gasped for breath as he came to stop. His heart pounded wildly against his ribcage and shivers wracked his frame. Spikes of pain dug into every square inch of his body.

The tent sat a few meters away. The distance might as well have been an ocean.

"N—" Harry tried, but his voice got caught in his chest and he wound up choking. "_Nev_—!"

His head dropped down, too heavy for Harry to keep holding up. It felt like lead had been poured into his body. Some of the pain numbed as exhaustion wrapped around him like a cloak.

Probably not a good sign.

The tent flap flew open as Neville burst out, Alistair right on his heels. They halted for a brief moment, both blanching as they took in the scene before them.

Neville took a step toward him, but Harry gasped out, "Flint," so he diverted to check on the other wizard first.

Two seconds later, Neville began to curse. "Shit, Harry, he's not breathing! What happened—"

Neville probably kept talking, but Harry could no longer hear him over the ringing in his ear. Instead he let his gaze drift down to the leafy plants he was lying on. Red droplets dripped off them, staining the ground.

There was blood in the grass. Where had the blood come from?

Unconsciousness swallowed him whole, and Harry knew no more.

o-O-o

A/N: A brief explanation on templars and wizards in this story: Harry and Flint (and Neville) are affected by the templars' Spell Purge much more strongly than DA mages are. This is primarily due to the difference in how their magic works. In the HP world it's very strong insinuated that a wizard's magic is tied directly to his life. Their magic prevents them from getting sick, allows them to live much longer, etc. In comparison, DA mages seem to be as susceptible to sickness as anyone else and have normal human lifespans. So while Spell Purge only effects the mana and spells of a DA Mage, it directly suppresses the magic of an HP wizard and causes a (rather nasty) physical reaction.

Since the Conclave, and thus the official start of DA:I, is still almost a year away, I'm a bit torn on exactly which direction I want to take this story. Option 1 would be to first get involved with the Grey Wardens and helping them (ie fighting darkspawn and tangling with the start of the Venatori business). Option 2 would be to dive right into the mage/templar war (more of political/drama-related storyline). Thoughts?

Thanks for all your fantastic reviews!

SR


	3. Chapter 3: Crops and Conversations

Posted: 9 January 2015  
Last Updated: 9 January 2015  
Chapter WC: 4,715  
Story WC: 12,169

* * *

That One Time Harry Saved Everyone

Chapter 3  
_Crops and Conversations_

* * *

Neville stood still as a statue, staring down at the Muggle town. He was right at the edge of the ward line that kept their little camp hidden from sight, and the hum of magic made the hair on his arms stand on end.

The village had been abuzz with activity earlier, with soldiers riding in and out and the villagers milling around, excited by the action. With the dead of night things had finally calmed, but Neville kept watch just in case.

It was better than pacing. Or hovering. Or angrily stomping around, going out of his mind with helpless frustration.

Neville had done his part. Now they just had to wait.

A rustle came from behind. Neville looked back to see Alistair leaning out of the tent. He called out and gestured inside, then said the magic word.

"_Harry_."

Neville all but ran past him and into the bedroom. He spared a glance for Flint—still unconscious, but stable and breathing without the assistance of a charm—before he zeroed in on Harry.

"You—" Neville started, then his voice went flat. "Harry, you are bloody idiot."

His long-time friend and Auror captain groaned, then chuckled. That, more than anything else, made Neville's shoulders finally relax. Harry was awake, _finally_, and shifting to sit up in bed.

"I feel like I wrestled with a hippogriff. Why did you let me wrestle a hippogriff?"

Snorting, Neville lightly hit Harry over the head. "You're an idiot," he informed Harry again, ignoring his indignant squawk. "And while I don't know what you did down there, I do know that you should _not_ have Apparated. Not in the state that you were in."

"Yeah, that was a colossally bad idea," Harry agreed.

Harry rubbed his head. As his arm dropped back to his side, he suddenly froze and stared at his left hand.

Neville grimaced. That wasn't how he'd wanted to bring this up.

"You splinched yourself. I couldn't get them back, and even if I did…"

Harry kept staring at his hand. Though wrapped in bandages, it was still obvious that the pinky and ring fingers on his left hand were missing.

Harry took in a sharp breath, then gave Neville a shaky smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I know. You may have taken medical courses in training, but you're not a Healer. Reattaching body parts shouldn't have to be part of your repertoire." His lips twisted. "We're supposed to be close enough to get to a hospital if something goes wrong."

That hardly made Neville feel any better. He snorted and said, "'Gone wrong' is certainly one way to put it."

Harry smiled for real, some of the spark returning to his eyes. He placed his hand on the bed, out of sight.

"So, what happened?"

"Well…" Harry shrugged one shoulder and glanced at Flint. "He was in a cell. He said he got captured by the Muggles. They had the ability to…suppress magic, I guess that's the best way to put it. It feels more like having the magic torn out of you though."

Neville's mouth drew down into a grimace.

"We should probably get moving. I'd rather not stay near here for too long. And…" Harry eyed the door speculatively. "How did Alistair react? Did he recognize what happened to Flint and I?"

"He seemed quite panicked, actually. He might be unfamiliar with magic, or…" Neville chewed on the inside of his bottom lip for a few seconds. "Maybe those weren't Muggles in that village."

"We might be thinking inside the box too much," Harry agreed. "Perhaps people here don't have magic, but have other powers instead. Like the psychic powers some Muggles have theorized about."

Neville huffed. "Psychic powers. Brilliant."

"We'll just know not to underestimate anyone here." Harry snickered and glanced at Flint again. "Can he be moved?"

"He has magical exhaustion, but that's about it now. I'll cast a basic stasis charm on him, then levitate him like we did…yesterday? Bloody hell, it feels like a lot longer than that."

In short time they got Flint prepared to move, ushered Alistair outside, and packed up the tent. Harry took a minute to erase the wards he'd set up, then turned to Neville.

"I'll tag Alistair and you tag me?" Harry proposed.

"Do you believe he will still come along quietly? _Should_ we bring him along?"

"He's been fairly casual about everything so far. I think he wants to see what we're going to do. And… The last time I tried the translation charm it helped me to memorize some words in his language a lot easier. I think that if I can get a basic grasp on his language, I can get it to work."

"Fine. But with four of us, we will need to get a new source of food soon."

Harry shrugged. Through gestures he asked for Alistair's wrist, placed a magical tag on him, and then offered his own wrist to Neville. Once they were all set, Neville began handing out disillusionment charms like they were candy. Alistair gasped at the first one, but once he'd confirmed with his own hands that Flint was still there, just invisible, he consented to allowing Neville to do the same to him.

Finally, they moved out.

After a few hours, Alistair wound up taking the lead. He seemed to know where he was going, and while there was always a chance he would lead them into a trap, Neville thought they would be fine.

They fell into an easy rhythm over the next week, walking during the day and setting up the tent when night came. Alistair's provisions were added to their kitchen. His food was obviously of a different quality, made primarily of dried meats and grains; the sorts of things that lasted long and were easy to store.

Flint slipped in and out of consciousness on the second day and woke fully on the third. He seemed to be no worse for wear. He stayed silent as they traveled, keeping a cool distance from them, but no longer making snide comments. Neville took it as an improvement, though Harry was a tad worried.

Then, midway into the second week, they came across another town.

It was smaller than the first, with about ten buildings in the village proper and a dozen farms scattered across the surrounding countryside.

"We should see if we can get horses," Harry said as they stood on the edge of the road. They were all visible, having removed the disillusionment charms a few days out from the first village. "We can probably trade something for them."

"I don't think a place like this is big enough to sell horses," Neville said. "And we don't know for certain that horses even exist here."

The few animals they had seen so far had been mostly similar to Earth's , but there _had_ been an incident with a horned rabbit which had, for some reason, left Harry in stitches for the rest of the day.

"They must have mounts of _some_ kind." Harry eyed Alistair, then made a face. "How am I supposed to pantomime 'mount'?"

Flint snorted. "I would suggest that you draw a horse, but we've all seen your drawings."

The corners of Harry's eyes crinkled as he grinned. "I don't know, I thought my dog one was pretty good."

"The one that looked like it had a broken spine and an owl's beak?"

"Alright, let's focus on what we need," Neville broke in. "Transportation and food. If we can even trade for them. Harry, do you think they might take galleons, for the gold content if nothing else?"

"Let's find out!"

"It would be just our luck for these _Muggles_ to not value gold," Flint muttered under his breath.

Harry took a single step forward, but Neville stopped him and said, "We should change our clothes. We're too distinctive right now. We need to blend in."

It took another handful of minutes to transfigure their robes. Alistair helped made them look slightly more accurate. Once he'd given the go-ahead, they finally moved into town.

o-O-o

Alistair bit the edge of his tongue as they walked toward the small village they had found. He felt…nervous, and not without reason. He still wasn't quite sure about the motivations of the group he had happened across.

The language barrier caused the most problems, for obvious reasons. Alistair didn't know what had happened to Harry and Mark. Harry had actually _lost_ two fingers, but the wound didn't look like it had been done by a blade and was already healed. And still Alistair didn't know if they had assaulted the town, or been attacked, or…

A wave of calm washed over him, muting his thoughts. In response the ever-present hum in the back of his mind grew stronger.

Alistair covered up a wince. The Calling had gotten stronger over recent weeks, even before he met this group of mages. It was unsettling, almost more so than their presence. At this rate he was about ready to march to Weisshaupt just to make sure he was alright.

And then there were all the impossible abilities that the mage kept casually displaying. They _waved their sticks_ and their clothing just, just _changed_! It moved and shifted and the material, and color, and everything _changed_.

Alistair whined and dropped is chin to his chest. He should have stuck to an easy investigation, like hunting down darkspawn or finding that entrance to the Deep Roads which he was _supposed_ to be doing.

The general store was easily spotted, thanks to the rough wooden sign outside. Alistair pointed it out to Harry and led the group inside.

Dust and dirt coated the floor of the shop. The shelves held a variety of odds and ends—mostly farming and construction supplies. There was a very noticeable lack of food. Even the usual staples, like bags of flour or salt, were nowhere to be seen.

A middle-aged man with a beard and dirty apron approached from the back of the store.

Alistair raised a hand in greeting. "Hail, stranger! We're looking for your food supplies. What do you have in stock?"

The man grimaced and the lines on his tanned face deepened into creases. "I'm not selling no food, Warden."

"Oh, well… Who in town does? Is there a weekly market or can we buy directly from the farmers?"

"No one's selling. No one's got food to sell."

Alistair's brow furrowed. "Is…something wrong?"

"Nothing you can do anything about."

"Is there a drought, or—"

"I said you can't do nothing." The man huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He eyed Alistair's armor and the mages warily. "Move along. We don't have no food to sell you."

Alistair's frown deepened, but he couldn't do anything more than nod helplessly. Some small towns were like this, and nothing could be done about it. This place wasn't even as bad as Haven had been, back when he'd first visited with the Hero of Ferelden ten years ago.

When Alistair turned back to the mages, he found them muttering amongst themselves.

"No food," Alistair said, hoping Harry would be able to understand that much.

Harry nodded, but rather than seem disappointed, he gave Neville a considering look. They conversed a bit more, then Neville sighed and nodded.

The group strode outside with purpose while Alistair trailed helplessly along. "Are we leaving, or…?" Alistair asked as they walked past the buildings. "Do we even really need food?"

Alistair had seen how much food they had in storage. It certainly seemed like more than enough for a while yet. Granted, most of their food was rather odd, stored in glass jars or clear, smooth boxes. They even had vegetables and meat, kept fresh by some fantastical form of magic. It was more than most people could dream of having. Not for the first time Alistair wondered why the mages were in Ferelden. Surely Thedas had nothing they could possibly want for.

The mages stopped at the edge of the first wheat field. Neville surveyed it with a critical eye. The others stepped back and watched.

"So we're doing…what, exactly? Are you waiting for the food to appear? I do so hate to be the bearer of bad news, but—"

Neville raised his stick and began mumbling. Alistair's mouth clicked shut and goosebumps raced across his skin as magic gathered in the air. He clamped down on the templar part of him, which instinctively wanted to dispel the magic.

He really, really hoped Neville wasn't cursing the fields because the villagers hadn't sold to them. He didn't seem the type, but it was hard to tell with some people.

As Neville finished the final word, there was an immediate effect. The withered plants shuddered, then straightened and shot up. The brown parts fell away into dust, leaving behind green shoots that turned golden as they sprouted. The plants grew up and up, until they stopped at what Alistair thought might be double their standard height.

"Maker's breath," Alistair whispered.

Of all the impossible things Alistair had seen mages do, this was the one which truly struck him dumb. To create life from death, to _grow_ food…

There were people coming out into the road, whispering and gaping.

"Food," Harry declared in the King's Tongue, making a sweeping gesture at the plants.

The mutters grew as more people gathered, drawn by the commotion. Alistair heard a few mentions of apostates and groaned aloud. Though he was glad that Neville had helped these people, it sound like _they_ were more fearful than grateful.

"What did you do to my crops?!" a sallow, red-faced man demanded as he ran up the road.

Alistair waved his hand in a placating gesture. "It's alright.. They just…made them grow faster. We were passing by and—"

"Did you curse my fields?!"

Alistair's eyes widened. "What? No—"

The man rounded on Harry. He looked like he wanted to start swinging his fists, but was too frightened to take another step forward. "Undo it! Undo what every you did! I want no part of your _magic_. Whatever you did—"

"It's alright, really. There are no ill effects on the plants." Or at least Alistair assumed as much. All he'd seen was an accelerated growth, and that seemed like explanation enough.

Mark said something that sounded derogatory, but the others ignored him.

The farmer flinched at the sound of his language and stepped back. Likely he was worried that he'd just been cursed as well. A moment later he gathered his courage and squared his shoulders.

"How do I know they didn't do something to my crops? After eating its produce we could all turn into frogs, or even mindless slaves! There's been enough trouble with mages lately. I want no part of it!"

"Oh, do shut up, Reyan," a crackling voice snapped.

As one the group turned. An old woman with a hunch back slowly made her way toward them.

"Greetings," Alistair said unsurely.

She nodded, and then glared at the farmer. "Such baseless suspicions have no use in these desperate times. And besides which, I have never seen magic like this before. I see no staff either." Clasping her hands behind her back, she peered at the mages. "I know not what you are, or what you want, but I thank you regardless."

"But—!" the farmer protested.

"Don't look a gifted horse in the mouth!" the old woman barked. She man a shooing gesture. "Go gather some helpers to start a harvest. Your crop looks more than ready."

The famer's face had gone white from a combination of fear and rage, but the old woman cowed him. He nodded jerkily and left.

"Now then, why don't you lot speak? Demons got your tongue?"

Alistair cleared his throat. He nearly shrank back himself when the old woman turned her piercing clear blue eyes on him. Maker, he felt like a boy back in the Chantry again, waiting to be scolded by one of the Sisters.

"Ah, right then… I am Alistair of the Grey Wardens. My companions do not speak the King's Tongue, I'm afraid; they are travelers from far away."

"Is that so?" The old woman stared at the mages some more. When Harry smiled and waved, she snorted. "You may call me Elder, for that is what I am. I invite you to spend the night in my home. A good meal and a warm bed is the least I can offer for what you have done."

"Uhh…" Alistair glanced at the group. Harry shrugged and made a gesture with his hand. Alistair didn't have the slightest idea what _that_ meant, but he took it as agreement. He doubted Harry would refuse anyway.

"Thank you very much, Ma'am."

The elder slowly began to make her way back into the village. Most of the onlookers had scattered, though Alistair could still hear a number of hushed conversations. The mages muttered amongst themselves as well and, once again, Alistair found himself walking in silence. He didn't feel left out, exactly, but… The last time he'd felt so out of his depth had been back during the Fifth Blight, when he'd so abruptly had the weight of the world thrown onto his shoulders with only one new Warden left in Ferelden to help him.

But these mages, their origin, their powers… Growing plants so casually like that… Maker, all of this was like something right out of the Chant of Light.

Alistair rubbed the back of his head with a gauntlet-covered hand and glanced at the elder. "Ah, we do not want anything in return for the…crops. We were merely stopping by to stock up on food supplies, but were turned away. When they saw the trouble you are having with your crops, well.. It was kind of a spur of the moment thing…"

"You companions grew part of a season's worth of crops on a whim?" She chuckled and Alistair shifted uneasily. When it was put that way… "What interesting company you have. They are not Wardens as well?"

"No, but they aren't really apostates either, at least not in the traditional sense."

"Hmm, indeed, I doubt they are mages at all."

"What?" Alistair faltered for a moment, then smiled at Harry when he looked concerned.

"If one looks like a mage, walks like a mage, then they must be a mage yes? But if someone does not use magic like a mage and does not act like a mage… Are they still a mage?"

Troubled, Alistair mulled over her odd words as they continued the slow procession to the other side of town. The elder took them into a small, two-room building and ushered them to sit down.

"I will finishing making my soup and you will spent the night," she declared. And then proceeded to hover over the pot in the hearth and ignore them.

Harry and Neville took seats at the rickety table in the corner. As usual, Mark stayed a bit apart from them, leaning against the wall.

Alistair found their differing attitudes interesting. Harry and Neville seemed to view Mark with distrust and one of the two always had an eye on him. It was odd, considering they had been sent on this trip together. Unless they hadn't. But then how had they ended here in Thedas? Maybe the trip had been an accident? Had their ship gotten lost at sea, shipwrecked, and left them stranded here? Based on all that Alistair observed, that honestly seemed more likely than his initial invasion theory.

"Alistair."

Looking up from his thoughts, Alistair saw Harry beckon him forward so he joined them at the table. Harry started speaking in his language, then stopped and smiled.

"Good," he said in the King's Tongue.

"What's good?"

Pulling out his stick, Harry held it up for a second. "Talk," he said, followed by something else in his language.

"Uh, you want me to talk? People are usually telling me to shut up. Granted, I've been told I'm not nearly as bad as I used to be—"

Harry had begun waving the stick and mumbling under his breath. When the tip lit up with a blue spark, Alistair's words died in his throat.

"Hmm." Harry tilted his head. "I think that might have worked."

Alistair gaped. "You— You just—!"

Harry smiled broadly. "Finally! You have _no_ idea how frustrating that spell structure was—like trying to push a kneazle up a fireplace.

"What?" Alistair shook his head "Wait, no, how can you—?"

"Translation charm." Harry flicked the stick. The blue spark was absent, but obviously its effect was not. "It took a while to get it working, but, _voila_."

His last word made no sense, but the rest was astonishingly clear.

"Are you speaking the King's Tongue?"

"Is that the name for you language? No, I'm not, but that's the beauty of it— the 'King's Tongue' is all you hear. There will still be trouble with cultural terms that don't have a direct translation, but that kind of stuff is easy enough to work around."

Alistair laughed breathlessly. "That's— amazing!"

Still grinning, Harry turned his stick on Neville. "Are you ready?"

Neville rolled his eyes and said something back. Harry used the translation magic on him, then on Mark. Once his stick had vanished back up his sleeve, Harry clapped his hands together.

"Now we're all set to go! Nice to meet you officially, Alistair."

"Nice to meet you too," Alistair said faintly.

"Great, now we get to hear the Muggle chatter," Mark muttered.

Alistair's brow furrowed. "Muggle? Is that one of the words that don't…translate?" He still had trouble wrapping his mind around the idea of words just…_changing_ like that, but at least that part of the concept was easy enough to grasp.

Harry nodded. "A Muggle is someone who can't use magic."

If they had a term for that, then… "Are most of the people from your home mages?"

"Mages are people here who use magic?" Neville asked.

When Alistair nodded, Neville and Harry shared a glance.

"Yes and no," Harry answered. "Our…community is composed of mages, but our world as a whole is primarily Muggle."

Alistair leaned forward eagerly. "What is it like over there? What was it like to cross the Amaranthine?"

The mages all blinked. "…What?" Harry eventually ventured.

A clunk from the other side of the room startled them all. The elder grinned at them as she placed a large ladle back into the pot.

"Soup is ready. Would you boys grab the bowls?"

They all received a serving of the soup and then sat in awkward silence around the table as they ate. The elder filled the uncomfortable atmosphere with conversation about the town, which quickly devolved into Neville asking a hundred questions about their farming techniques and the different types of crops grown in the area. Though unfamiliar with the particular plants, it sounded like he knew a lot about farming as a whole.

So a warrior, a farmer, and an outcast. Just what _had_ brought these three together?

A hissing rose in the back of Alistair's head, rapidly growing in volume. The ever-present whispers burbled up into chattering voices. Alistair felt a weight drape over his back and pull at his chest. A chill shot down his spine. He could swear someone was standing right behind him, talking in his ear and tugging on a string wrapped around his heart, pulling him northward.

"Alistair?"

He struggled to push back the voices, to focus on the wooden spoon in his hand and the chair beneath him. He took in a shuddering breath and rose back to reality like a drowning man breaking through the surface of water.

"Alistair?" Harry said again, frowning.

Dropping his spoon, Alistair shook his head. He could taste bile in the back of this throat. "Sorry, just a headache. I, uh— I think I need some fresh air."

Alistair stumbled to the door and didn't stop until he was a few yards into the nearest field. He took in another few gulps of air. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and spent a minute feeling the sun on his face.

He could still hear it in the back of his mind.

The Calling.

Intellectually he knew that was what it was, but somehow he couldn't quite wrap his mind around it. He had only been with the Grey Wardens for ten years—just over half the average term. He knew it had to come eventually, but why so soon?

Alistair opened his eyes and blinked away the glare of sunlight. He… He needed to go back to the Anderfels, to the Weisshaupt Fortress. He needed to report in his Calling, get his affairs in order, notify a few friends, and then…

His ears were ringing. Alistair walked back to the elder's house as though in a fog. He stopped just outside and breathed in deeply again. Then he pasted on a bright smile and walked inside with a bounce in his step.

"Sorry about that! I had a Blight of a tension headache for a minute there, but I think it's passed."

He sat at the table, keeping his eyes focused on his dish. Slowly the conversation started back up around him.

"Most of the trouble comes from those bandits," the elder said, gesturing with her spoon as she continued whatever they'd been discussing in Alistair's absence. "Beyond demanding tributes of food, they also prey on the roads, disrupting trade. We have barely been able to keep in contact with Crestwood."

Neville frowned. "Is there no militia in the area to help?"

The elder snorted. "The Arl is off in Denerim, kissing the queen's ass. He doesn't have the attention to spare for little people like us."

"I am sure that Queen Anora would help if you requested assistance from her," Alistair broke in. "She's a good woman."

Well, the good part was debatable, but she did take her duties quite seriously.

"How would we get there to make that request in the first place? We have neither the supplies nor the men to spare. And with the unrest in the south I doubt any of us would survive the trip regardless."

Alistair frowned as he scratched his chin. Maybe he could delay answering the Calling for a little bit longer yet. He could make the drip to Denerim, and he still needed to keep an eye on the foreign mages. Sure, he could hand the duty over to someone else if he really needed to, but why waste the time it would take to worth that out?

He knew he was just trying to distract himself, but he couldn't quite muster up the energy to care.

"Well then, why don't we take care of the bandits for you?" Harry said.

The whole table stopped to stare at him.

"_What_?" Mark spluttered.

Surprisingly, Neville didn't look exasperated by Harry's pronouncement. Instead he stared thoughtfully into space, seriously considering the idea.

"An entire keep filled with bandits? Are you quite certain?" the elder asked pointedly.

Alistair choked on his soup. A _keep_? He hadn't heard anything about a keep!

Harry absently patted Alistair on the back while smiling at the elder. "Sure, it sounds like fun!"

"Hmm…" The elder sat back in her chair and eyed them. "If you truly believe yourselves capable… I can have one of my boys take you there. We won't be able to provide any more help than that though."

Harry waved her off. "That's fine, that's fine. We can head out first thing in the morning. In the meantime, do you need more help with your fields?"

The elder nodded sharply, and then began listing all the major fields in the area.

Neville groaned. "Sure, don't bother asking me, Harry. It's not like I'll be the one doing the work," he muttered under his breath.

Mark scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked torn between mulish and queasy. Alistair would have asked him about the odd look, but he was too busy listening to the Calling in his head.

o-O-o

A/N: A rather dialogue-heavy chapter, but in exchange the next chapter will be very action-heavy.

It sounds like some of you readers have not played Dragon Age: Inquisition. I want to warn you ahead of time that there _will_ spoilers in this story (even if I'll be veering rather far from canon eventually). Even the next chapter will be set mostly in Crestwood, one of the areas in the DA:I. For reference, the village they found is to the southeast of the game area.

Next question: would you be interested in seeing the wizards split up/get separated, or would you prefer that they stick together?

Thanks for reading!

SR


End file.
